


A Christmas Duet

by XarisEirene



Series: Christmas with the Solos [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Christmas Tree, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Christmas, Holidays, Honeymoon, Married Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Not Canon Compliant, POV Ben Solo, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Redeemed Ben Solo, Returning Home, Sweet, The Force Ships It (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XarisEirene/pseuds/XarisEirene
Summary: There's nothing like coming home for the holidays. Rey and Ben's quiet honeymoon on Chandrila would be perfect, if only they could find the star to top their tree.--------------------Ben spread the quilt on the couch to display the dodecahedron pieced in shades of gold. “It’s called the royal star. On state occasions, the monarch would hold it like an orb, as a symbol of authority. The top point is for the ruling house.” Memory of his mother's grief echoed a minor key in the Force, and his brow furrowed.Rey fingered the pattern in the fabric. “It’s not the actual royal star you’ve been putting on top of your Christmas tree, is it?”
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo
Series: Christmas with the Solos [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084301
Comments: 18
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gentle, fluffy sequel that can probably be enjoyed as a stand-alone as well. It's not necessary to read "A Christmas Solo" first, though some references may seem disconnected and significance lost without the back story. Also, it may be worth noting that Ben and Rey's honeymoon is the setting and not the plot, lol.

The shell-lined path was narrower and the grass sparse where it struggled in the sandy soil. The cottage’s blue shutters had faded to grey, and the clapboard was in need of fresh paint.

Ben’s heart sank.

There were so many beautiful places in the galaxy, places Rey had never seen, places beyond her wildest imagining. And he’d brought her here. Why hadn’t he at least taken her to Varykino, with its majestic domes and magnificent view and sun-fired terraces? She’d love it.

“Ben.” Rey squeezed his fingers between hers. “Don’t.”

Then she pushed her perspective into his mind: _The little cottage snuggled into the breast of the sea? Charming. Of all the grand places he could have taken her—and what doors would not open for him, former Supreme Leader of the First Order and now Secretary of the Galactic Defense Forces? He could have taken her anywhere, but he’d brought her here, where it was homey and welcoming and private, where he could share his heart and his memories. Where she needn’t worry about etiquette. Where she would have a reprieve from the eyes of the galaxy analyzing her every word and move. She could simply be herself. Just Rey. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness._

“Thank you.” He pressed a kiss behind her ear. His first instinct was correct. Overthinking it would have landed him in trouble. Again.

They reached the front door, he palmed the lockpad, and it swooshed open. Before Rey could step through, he swept her up into a princess carry.

“Ben!” She exclaimed and looped her arms around his neck. “What’s this?”

“Tradition,” he said and eased them through the door, careful not to clunk her head on the jamb. “For a husband to carry his new bride over the threshold.”

She giggled. “Why?”

“Let’s just leave it at ‘tradition.’” He set her down in the slate-tiled entry. “There’s a spate of reasons, none of which are very flattering.”

“You can’t say something like that and not tell me.”

He gazed down into her bright eyes, sparkling above sun-dusted cheeks.

Her mouth pursed in anticipation. “You know I’ll get the truth out of you one way or another.”

Could he deny her anything? “It was thought to be a sign of protection from evil spirits or even to prevent the bride from tripping, which would be a bad omen. Or a sign of her innocence and reticence, that she’s not too eager”—he made a suggestive sound with his throat—“and her husband must carry her to bed.” His cheeks warmed a little at the thought.

Hers pinked too.

“Or because he kidnapped his bride and had to force her into his house.” He shook his head. “See? Not exactly admirable.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She smoothed a hand down his coat lapel and peered up at him through her lashes. Fine glitter still sparkled at her temples. “I was kidnapped by my husband once, you might recall, and I _like_ the feeling of being protected by you, and I wouldn’t mind _in the slightest_ if you carried me to bed.”

“Rey.” He groaned. Between their morning wedding, lunch reception and the flight to Chandrila, it’d been a long day. And an even longer year before that, with their fruitless search for a route to the Unknown Regions, despite all the good they’d accomplished. But the galaxy could wait; these weeks away were their gift to each other. 

Rey’s smile broadened, forming dimples in her cheeks, and she stepped forward to press her body against his. Even through the double layers of their winter coats, she was strong and soft in all the right places. His knees were going to give out. He was going to give in. So much for his plans to take his time so that she wouldn’t feel rushed or pressured, to show her around the beach house and feed her dinner and stroll the shore at sunset.

_Ben_ , she spoke into his mind, _I just want you_.

Desire blazed through him and ignited the ever-present tension that simmered between them. His skin pebbled and every nerve fired. But first— he had a promise to keep. He drew a slow, steady breath and mustered all the self-control he’d cultivated in his three decades.

“Let me help you with your wrap,” he said.

She shrugged from the faux-fur trimmed outerwear, exposing her shoulders. He bent to trail kisses along their graceful lines and nuzzle her nape. He couldn’t help himself.

“Ben Solo!” She exclaimed with a giggle and wriggled out of reach. Her ticklishness had been an amusing discovery. “I’m sorry we’ll miss the Stormtrooper Gala this Christmas.”

“Don’t be.” He turned to hang her wrap in the closet and his overcoat alongside. “Armie’s thrilled to host this year and, honestly, his objection to playing elf again is all for show.” Hux’s transformation wasn’t complete, but he’d made significant strides. His natural competitiveness ensured he excelled with the GDF’s new vision, even if he was sometimes insensitive in the execution.

Ben drew an envelope from the inner breast pocket of his tuxedo and thrust it between them.

“What’s this?” She ran her fingers across the elegant calligraphy: _Mrs. Rey Solo_. “This isn’t in your hand.”

It was no surprise she knew his lettering, considering he’d written her so many love notes since last Christmas. “No. It’s from Leia. Her wedding gift. She wanted you to open it as soon as we arrived.”

Rey did.

Ben’s heart gave a little lurch to see his mother’s graceful loops and swirls swooping across the thick paper, to remember her head bent beside his as a boy, while she taught him how to hold the pen. To recall her lemon and lavender scent. Or maybe her faint fragrance emanated from the stationary. He’d come so close to losing her.

“But we didn’t lose her,” Rey answered his thoughts.  
  
No, they hadn’t, since her EV syndrome was treated in time aboard the _Steadfast_. Leia was a formidable presence in their lives. She continued to be a galactic leader and advisor, yes, but first a mother, determined to do it right, now that she was afforded a second chance and _two_ children, as she was fond of reminding them.

Rey smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth before bending her head to the letter. Ben scooted around to read over her shoulder.

_My Dearest Rey,_

_Words cannot adequately convey my joy in your marriage or that I may now—officially—claim you as my daughter. Someday all I have will be yours. But on the occasion of your wedding, the Chandrila beach house is my gift to you and Ben. Make it your home. Fill it with love and laughter. Raise your family. The Solos’ happiest memories echo within these humble walls. May it ever be the same for you—_

_All My Love,_

_Leia_

Ben’s spirit lifted like the gulls on the shoreline. She knew how much this house meant to him—and now it was his. _Theirs._ He swallowed hard and pressed his cheek to Rey’s crown. It wasn’t fair that his mother should reduce him to tears on his honeymoon, even if they were tears of joy.

“This is ours?” Rey turned from beneath him, her eyes sweeping over the small entry.

He followed the swish of her wedding dress into the great room and stopped on the nubby rag rug that covered the worn wood floors.

“And she even decorated,” Rey said in a hush. She paused to examine a tiny village asleep under its blanket of snow on a side table.

Ben wandered around the room. Garlands framed the bay windows overlooking the Silver Sea, where the surf caressed the beach. A battalion of nutcrackers stood at attention atop the bookcase. Holiday pillows and throws piled on the sofas and a large poinsettia graced one corner. He trailed his fingers over his mom’s treasured quilt, passed down through generations of Organas, the bold, bright star glowing gold from its center. He could hardly believe she’d left it for him. For them.

Wood was laid in the fireplace and candles waited to be lit. Twin monogrammed stockings hung from the mantel. Labeled boxes were stacked on the hearth. He picked up a note resting on top.

_Ben, Here’s all you need to trim the tree, except for the star. Han hid it years ago. Unless you find it, you’ll probably need to buy another. Love, Mom_

Everything as it was when he was a boy. Only the tree was missing, but even its absence conveyed his mother’s intention. She must have visited herself; she couldn’t have arranged for anyone else to place each item with such care. His heart contracted in bittersweet nostalgia. He completed his circuit and drew to a halt beside Rey.

She beamed up at him, glowing and beautiful, her features open. “Did you know?”

“I didn’t. She surprised me too. Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Rey threw her arms around his neck and muffled her voice in his chest. “Ben. It’s perfect. It’s like a dream come true.”

He couldn’t have said it better. Their spirits hummed in unison across the bond. He wove his fingers into the sheer white fabric gathered at the small of her back, held her in the shelter of his arms, and murmured low into her ear. “May I show you around our new home?”

Would he ever cease to thrill at those words? _Our home._

“Yes, please,” she said and raised her shining eyes to his. There was nothing coquettish in her regard. Only a purity of admiration and soul-deep longing that rebounded between them, artless and unashamed. “Show me our bedroom first?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

***

Dawn stretched long, golden fingers through the window and tickled Ben awake. Of all the mornings to sleep in, this should be one of them, while he was held in Rey’s arms, the novelty of her flesh flush and warm against his length. She molded herself to his back, one arm draped over his side. He pressed her fingers tighter against his chest with a soft metallic clink. The rings that marked her as his. And him as hers. Almost superfluous in the context of their dyad yet no less meaningful. 

If he’d been thinking, he would have lowered the rouladens over the windows last night, but then he’d been a little preoccupied. Lost to the wonder of loving his wife, the way her wedding gown pooled on the floor at her feet and left him as breathless as her first kiss. Lost to the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips and the marvel of their bodies moving together like satin and steel. To the arch of her back, the curve of her throat, the music of her mouth. And deeper still to the merging of their souls, in soaring ecstasy as in quiet rest, at home in each other’s hearts.

Even now her breath rose and fell at his back, her pulse thrumming as one with his. The sun continued to rise and paint the bedroom in its amber hues.

His stomach rumbled. Loudly. When had they last eaten? Not dinner. They hadn’t left the bedroom since their arrival yesterday afternoon. So it must have been at the lunch reception and even that had been limited to the bites they could squeeze between receiving endless congratulations. If he was hungry, Rey must be famished.

He grinned and rolled to face her. She pulled the duvet tighter under her chin and tucked her arms against her chest. He kissed her forehead and her eyelids fluttered up.

“Good morning, wife,” he said, just to hear the endearment.

She gifted him with a drowsy smile and a contented hum—and her eyes drifted closed again. He brushed against her muzzy mind as she sank back into a well of serenity. Not this morning then, though he could hardly blame her, considering how little they’d slept.

“Rest well,” he murmured, kissed her again and slid from under the coziness of the comforter. He intended to bring her breakfast in bed and make a thorough search for the star, but first he’d take a bracing dip in the sea. _That_ would cool him off. As long as he didn’t dwell too long on the thought that his _wife_ was still in his _bed_.

Ben snagged his trunks and a towel from the ‘fresher and stepped through the sliding glass door onto the deck. Cold air nipped his bare skin and he shivered. The beach was an empty canvas, too early and the wrong season for bathers. He sucked a lungful of salt air.

He’d reveled in this view, smelled these scents, listened to the song of this surf a thousand times and yet it filled his senses fresh as the first snowfall. Love gave him new ears and new eyes. He’d felt this way before—a year ago—when joy sent him dashing through the _Steadfast’s_ corridors after the night that changed his life. He could never have imagined then what his life would be now.

***

“Where are we going?” Rey said and held tendrils of hair back from her face as they sped toward the foothills.

“You’ll see.” Ben grinned and felt her nudge at his mind. “Hey, stop that. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

Her mouth puckered into a mock frown.

He couldn’t resist looking at her every few seconds and marveling that she rode beside him, that they were married, finally, and undertaking this utterly domestic errand together. Not that they hadn’t spent the intervening year in each other’s pockets. It was a standing joke among their friends and colleagues as well as the various political and military bodies with which they interacted that Ben and Rey were inseparable. If you got one, you got them both. And there was always the bond that united them closer than any two beings alive. But marriage was something more. The Force made them one in their dyad—by its will. Their vows made them one in love—by their choice.

He glanced at Rey again.

“What?” She said over the rush of wind. Her smile dimpled and roses gathered in her cheeks. “Why do you keep looking at me?”

“I just—” He reached for her hand and wove their fingers together. “I can’t believe we’re married. I have to keep reminding myself this is real.”

“Oh?” She sidled closer on the bench seat of the old speeder. “I’d be glad to help you remember.”

“Rey!” He laughed and turned from the road into a tree-lined lane.

“What is this place?” Rey stared at the uniform rows in amazement.

“A tree farm,” Ben said. He parked the speeder in front of the office. “We’re going to find our tree, chop it down, and take it home. It’s a Christmas tradition.”

“Chop one down? You can’t be serious. All these gorgeous trees?” Horror bled across their bond. She popped out of the speeder before he could come around to help her. He offered his arm anyway.

Of course she was horrified, coming from a desert planet where vegetation was scarce. This must seem the height of profligacy. “It’s a _farm_. The trees are raised for this purpose and they’ll plant new ones. But if it really bothers you, we can purchase an artificial tree instead.”

She scrunched her nose and squeezed his bicep as if to fortify her courage. “No, Ben Solo. Lead on. Show me how it’s done.”

And he did. It took her forever, wandering among the rows and rows of evergreens, gliding her fingers over their needles, inhaling their spicy sweet aroma, to select the perfect tree. Not the tallest or the fullest or the most symmetrical, but one that sang to her in the Force—just as it did to him, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. There was something about the wide-spaced branches and blue-tipped limbs that made it _their_ tree. One fierce swing of her lightsaber severed the trunk and soon they were zipping home, the tree strapped into the speeder’s back seat.

They picked up dinner en route, and Ben levitated the tree into place before the central bay window. They trimmed the branches as the sea folded the blushing sun within its embrace.

Ben recounted stories with each ornament hung: a Santa-hatted tauntaun. A pod-racer. An Alderaanian starflower. A snowflake composed from X-wings touching wingtip to wingtip. There were souvenirs from Han’s travels, gifts Leia received as a senator, mementos from family outings, Ben’s childhood crafts. He didn’t know who found it more healing—Rey, who had never known a family Christmas, or him, for whom each story pieced his broken past together like the pattern on his mother’s quilt.

When they were finished, they switched off all but the fairy lights. Reflections doubled in the dark glass and dotted the beamed ceiling. They stood back to admire their handiwork.

“Lovely.” Rey sighed and moved to tidy their mess. “I’m sorry you haven’t been able to find the star.”

“Who knows what my dad did with it.” He shrugged away his disappointment. “We can go shopping tomorrow.”

She shoved packing paper in a box. “Tell me about it? The star.”

“It’s about this big”—he shaped his fingers to indicate he could balance it in the palm of one hand—“gold and twelve-pointed.”

She snapped the last lid closed and brushed off her hands. “ _Twelve_ points?”

“One for each noble house of Alderaan. Here. It looks like this.” Ben spread the quilt on the couch to display the dodecahedron pieced in shades of gold. “It’s called the royal star. On state occasions, the monarch would hold it like an orb, as a symbol of authority. The top point is for the ruling house.” Memory of his mother’s grief echoed a minor key in the Force, and his brow furrowed.

Rey fingered the pattern in the fabric. “It’s not the _actual_ royal star you’ve been putting on top of your Christmas tree, is it?”

“Well, I—” Honestly, he didn’t know. It’d been thrust into his hands as soon as he was old enough to hold it and topping the tree had always been the capstone event in their family decorating. “I can’t imagine it was.”

She touched the topmost point, a lighter gold than the others. “Which was the ruling house?”

“House Organa.”

“Your family?”

“Breha and Bail didn’t have any children and adopted my mom.”

“Princess Leia. Which is how you have the quilt and the star.” Her gaze turned thoughtful and the Force sang, as it often did, with purposeful harmony between them. “Does that make you a prince?”

“Of a planet that no longer exists. But, yes, technically.” Even without touching her mind, he could almost see the wheels in her brain turning. “Rey, don’t make me into something I’m not. I’m just Ben.”

“ _My_ Ben.” She cupped his jaw and stood on her toes to press her lips to his, slow and sweet. “My husband.”

Her husband. No other role could give him greater delight or satisfaction.

Ben drew Rey down before the hearth. Firelight danced in her eyes and flickered on her golden skin. He traced the shifting patterns with his lips and loved her, gently and tenderly, to the crackle of the logs and twinkle of the lights and beat of their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything about the Alderaanian noble houses and the royal star is a product of my imagination. Hope you enjoy this sweet little glimpse into Ben and Rey's future. Part 2 in the next few days. Happy New Year!


	2. Chapter 2

Clattering emanated from the door left open to the garage.

“Find anything yet?” Ben called from his place in the kitchen. He stirred the paste of cocoa and sugar. Was it too grainy? Maybe a touch more water was needed to dissolve the crystals. It’d been decades since he learned at his mother’s knee. She might not be much of a cook, but she could make a mean hot chocolate.

“All sorts of interesting stuff,” Rey called back, “but not the star.”

He turned down the heat to avoid scalding the milk. He could have powered on the K8E “Katie” droid, another generous gift from Leia, to see to the cooking, cleaning and home maintenance, but he was content to putter about and enjoy their privacy a while longer.

“Yeah, well, Han didn’t get rid of anything.” He altered his voice to imitate his father. “Never know when something might come in handy, kid.”

“That sounds just like him.” Rey’s laughter burbled. “Smart man.”

Of course she’d think so, scavenger that she was. Her enjoyment pulsated across their bond while she rummaged through his father’s old things. How was it possible that only a week had passed? In moments like these, he felt as if they’d been married forever, that he’d known her all his life, that there was nothing novel in sharing a home and a bed.

“What are you thinking about in there?” Rey shouted, humor lacing her voice. “You’re making me blush!”

He grinned and spoke through their bond. _About how much I love making love to you._

 _Even in the sand?_ She projected a memory of their ill-fated romp on the frigid beach.

_Even in the sand. Though you can’t say I didn’t warn you._

_You were right._

_As always._ His lips twitched as he awaited her outrage.

_Those are fighting words, husband._

_Counting on it, my darling._

_Ben Solo! Just for that I refuse to be provoked._

He loved how she said his full name in exasperation as often as in adoration. After so many years despising his identity, her affectionate epithets never ceased to warm him.

He felt as if he knew everything about her, knew her to the depths of her soul, and then she’d surprise him. Shrieking over the chilly surf. Or listening with rapt attention and insatiable questions to his stories. Or launching a covert attack that transformed from spontaneous sparring into something else entirely. When was the last time anyone dared to sneak up on him? In those moments, he still couldn’t believe she was his wife. Ben shook his head and dug through a drawer in search of a whisk. Hmm. A fork would have to suffice.

Rey wiggled through the doorway and elbowed the lockpad. “I did find this.”

He shot a glance at the dusty box in her arms but was no more enlightened. “The star?”

“No. You’ll see.” She flashed him a dimpled smile and trotted into the living room.

He beat hot milk into the cocoa paste until fine bubbles frothed. Then he added a drop of peppermint oil. She’d already tried cinnamon, orange, vanilla and lavender. He’d saved the best for last.

Ben froze under the archway that led to the great room, a steaming mug in each hand and his heart in his throat. “What—”

“Almost there,” Han’s recorded voice filled the space. “Just a little bit more.”

A holo showed toddler Ben astride Chewie’s shoulders as he placed the missing star atop the tree. Clapping and cheering erupted off screen.

Ben handed Rey her mug and sank onto the sofa beside her. “Where did you—”

“The garage,” she said. “I thought maybe—”

“Oh. I—” He was what? Happy and sad, fearful and hopeful all at once. He wanted to watch—and he didn’t.

“Hey…” Rey cut him a sideways look, set her mug on the caf table, and slipped her arm through his elbow in the same way her spirit wrapped around his in their bond. “Ben, we don’t have to do this.”

“I relived that memory last year.” The very first vision on Master Yoda’s tour of Christmas Past and painful enough he’d been relieved to escape, even though it succeeded in reawakening him to the love Snoke had striven so hard for him to forget.

Chewie swung little Ben to the floor and he toddled toward the camera. His image grew until it filled the projection, all wide chortles and floppy hair. The recording disappeared into static, but Ben remembered what came next, how his father tossed him in the air, cuddled him against his chest and spoke words of love and affirmation over him.

Rey’s grip tightened on his forearm as she experienced the vicarious memory. “He loved you.”

Ben nodded and blinked at the pressure in his lungs. He could hardly bear to see it the first time. And now—

The static resolved and a new image appeared: a light wavering in the dark and Han’s voice again. “All right, Sweetheart, let her rip.”

Blue flame burst into being and illuminated the table. Little Ben squealed and clapped his hands.

Rey leaned closer and squinted. “What in stars?”

Ben explained the rum-soaked pudding even as they watched it sliced and served. It appeared his dad set the camera on the table and forgot to switch off the recorder. Toddler Ben gobbled his piece, leaving his mouth rimmed in a ruin of crumbs. He studied the adults busy talking and laughing—and levitated Uncle Luke’s slice right out from under his nose.

“You sneaky little fiend!” Rey snorted. Ben shared her amusement.

Luke’s fork met an empty plate and he glanced up and down the table in dismay. “Where’s my dessert?”

“Ben Organa Solo!” From the table’s opposite end, Leia’s eyes darted to her son, whose cheeks bulged in two incriminating mounds. “What did I tell you about—”

Uncle Chewie hooted and Han’s guffaw sounded from somewhere near the camera.

“Well done, kid.” Luke folded a napkin into a starship and floated it across the table to Ben. “Here. See if you can make that fly.” That's right. His uncle had loved him too—even from the beginning.

Han muttered something about not encouraging the little bandit, the image shuddered and then switched off.

“You were really cute,” Rey said, but her grin couldn’t mask her melancholy. There were no holorecordings of her childhood, no happy Christmases, no gifts under a tree. No uncles to tutor her in the Force.

“Rey, let’s not—” Ben pressed his hand over hers where it still rested on his arm. “These are difficult enough for me to watch and if they make you sad, then let’s save it for another time. Our honeymoon ought to be happy.”

“No,” she said and her firmness caught him off guard. “No. I think we need this. Both of us. It hurts—but it hurts good.”

***

They drank peppermint cocoa, watched old holos, laughed and cried. Healing warmed Ben’s soul like the Alderaanian quilt tucked around them. Rey was right. He needed this.

“What was that about _you_ always being right?” She quirked a brow and switched on the next holo.

Han’s face appeared in the projection, older though not as weathered as that last time Ben saw him on the Starkiller catwalk. His heart twisted with the recollection and he pinched his eyes closed.

“Ben,” Han’s voice said.

His eyes popped open.

His father looked straight into the camera. Straight at him. “Son, I don’t know when you’ll view this. If ever. Every Christmas we hope you’ll come home, your mom and I. Maybe this year. Maybe next. You don’t know how hard it’s been to celebrate without you here. I know we didn’t do right by you. We made a lot of mistakes. If I could go back and change things so that you’d stay, I would. In a heartbeat. I’d give anything to have you back.”

Ben sucked a breath. His dad had given everything; he’d given his life.

Rey rubbed soothing circles between his shoulders.

“I pray the Maker that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive us someday. We’ve never stopped loving you. We’ve never stopped believing or hoping.” Han took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. “Gah. I didn’t mean to go all maudlin on you. As I was saying—

“My favorite memory every Christmas was watching you put that star on top of our tree. We’d lift you up until you got too big. Then you’d stand on a stepstool. Last time you were home, you just stood on your toes. Remember that? You were as tall as me and Leia yelled at us for wrestling in the living room and breaking some whatnot or other.” He harrumphed with a shake of his head. “I bet you’re taller than me now. Bet I could still take you out, though.” His mouth crooked up to one side and the crevices deepened around his eyes.

If they could wrestle now, Ben would let him. He’d let his dad pin him to the floor and crow over his victory, just to see him alive again.

“Anyway. That star? You were the last one to put it on our tree. No one’s touched it since. We couldn’t bring ourselves to do it. Not without you. Ben, you’re the light of our lives and until you’re back, it’s not going to shine from our tree again. But when it does? It means all is forgiven and you’re home.” Han pinched his lips together and nodded. “I put it away in your special place. You’ll know where.” A muffled sound came from outside the projection. Han leaned closer and dropped his voice. “I’d better go. Your mom’s calling. I surprised her this year and she doesn’t know what to do with me.” He chuckled low. “See you around, kid.”

The image vanished and Rey switched off the holo.

Ben folded forward until his elbows rested on his thighs and he sunk his face into his palms. Rey’s hand continued to stroke his back.

How he’d longed to hear his father’s voice again, but this— Would his father have filmed this message if he’d known what would happen? Ben drew a shaky breath. Surely that was wishful thinking. He’d avoided facing this moment ever since Master Yoda took him back to his Chandrila childhood. Nothing could atone for what Kylo Ren did. He could blame it on Snoke’s brainwashing, but it couldn’t change the stark reality that he’d killed his own father. Ben would live with the consequences and his regret for the rest of his life. What could he say?

 _I’m sorry, Dad. I love you. I—_ The pain seared through him all over again. His shoulders heaved under Rey’s embrace and he sobbed. _Dad, forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me._

***

The attic stairs pulled down with a shower of dust. Ben ducked aside and Rey sneezed.

“Are you sure you’re going to fit?” Rey asked.

He gauged the narrow opening. When was the last time he’d been up here? Probably before he was sent to the Jedi Academy. He could direct Rey in his stead, but he needed to do this himself. There was nothing for it. “If my dad fit, then I should.”

“Could he have meant somewhere else?”

Ben shook his head. This was the place. Why hadn’t he thought of his attic retreat before? He clambered up the ladder, squeezed through the opening, and hunched over to avoid clunking his head on the A-frame roof.

Rey’s curiosity flared across their bond, and the ladder creaked under her ascent.

“Just stay on the solid wood so you don’t put a foot through the ceiling,” he called behind.

He crept along the walkway toward the circular window at the end. Clouds muted the sunlight streaming into the small sitting area. The child-sized furnishings were just as he remembered: pillows stacked on the little rag rug, a bookcase neatly lined with children’s titles, a toy chest. The multi-pointed star, glittering gold in the daylight, rested in the rocking chair’s seat.

“You found it.” Rey sank to her knees beside him.

“We did.” Ben reached for the star, profoundly pleased with the discovery, and turned it over in his hands. It was heavier than he remembered.

“It’s hard to believe you were ever this small,” Rey said and gave the rocking chair a gentle push. “I would have loved this place as a child.”

“When I couldn’t be outside, I spent hours up here, mostly reading.” He extended one hand to touch the book spines. “My mother liked to entertain—even at the beach house. This was a safe escape.” He sighed.

“Would you want to do that?” Rey asked as she preceded him back to the steps. “Entertain, I mean?”

“It’ll be unavoidable, I’m afraid, with our roles.” He handed the star through the opening and down to her.

“I was thinking we could invite Leia and maybe Chewie next year. We’re her only family. I feel bad she’s not with us this Christmas.”

“Don't worry about her. It’s our honeymoon. Plus she’s with Lando.” He aimed a smirk over his shoulder as he descended the ladder. Surely his mom had known Lando too long to be hoodwinked, but he was still a charmer. “I doubt she’s even had time to give us a second thought.”

He alighted on the floor and folded the steps into the ceiling. When he turned back to Rey, she had the star between her teeth.

“What are you—”

“Ben,” she said, holding it out to him as if she feared it would crumble in her hands, “this is solid gold. I think—I think this is the real thing. This is _the_ royal star of Alderaan.”

***

When the great room was twinkling again with Christmas lights and the fire snapping merrily, Ben stood before the tree with the twelve-pointed star glittering gold between his palms. He could have packed it away to save for his mother or even sent it to a museum. He and Rey could have bought a new star, something that didn’t bear the weight of a legacy, a clean slate for the memories they would make. They could have, but they didn’t. By mutual agreement. 

Rey watched from the sofa, her stockinged feet tucked under her and the quilt wrapped around her knees. But her heart stood in solidarity with his. _You can do this, Ben. You’re not alone._

It was more than a decoration, more than placing a star atop a tree. It was acknowledgment of his heritage, of a planet and a people that lived only in memory, and acceptance of a calling, one he had inherited as surely as his mother’s eyes, the calling to lead and serve. It was a bridge from the family of his childhood to the family of his marriage. And it was a message from beyond the veil, forgiveness offered and received, forgiveness extended in return.

How many times had his parents pressed this into his hands? What must his mother have felt to watch Alderaan’s young prince holding the royal star? The years yawned behind him—from Chewie’s shoulders to his boyhood enthusiasm to his sullen youth—and collapsed into this single shining moment. This time it was his decision.

Ben lifted the star and settled it into place. There was no fanfare, no ceremony, no Force ghosts appearing to cheer him on. But he could see his father’s smile, the way his lips would tip up and pull to one side. And he could hear his voice: _It means_ _all is forgiven and you’re home_.

Ben backed away and dropped to the couch beside Rey, never taking his eyes from the star. She covered him with the shared quilt.

For so long he’d thought it impossible, that he could never go back, that he was cursed forever to wander in the wilderness of his choices. Last year had changed that. And here he was. At home in their very own beach cottage. At home in his parents’ love. At home in his wife’s heart. His spirit ascended and wheeled on an updraft of gratitude.

And Rey snuggled her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh. “Welcome home, Ben.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben Solo's Peppermint Cocoa  
> 4 tsp Belgian cocoa (non-alkalized)  
> 1 Tbl granulated maple sugar  
> 1 Tbl water  
> 8 oz whole milk  
> peppermint essential oil (food grade)
> 
> Stir cocoa and sugar together in a mug. Add water a little at a time and dissolve into a thick paste. Whisk hot milk into paste and add a drop of peppermint oil to taste. Note: Any cocoa, sugar and milk alternative will work.  
> \--------------------
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope this gave you some warm fuzzies to start the new year.❤️ For those who keep all twelve days, Merry 9th Day of Christmas! This series is now complete--though I may check back same time next year to see if the Solos have A Christmas Trio...😉


End file.
